


The Blessings of Thanksgiving

by GraySonOfGotham



Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU, Nightwing (Comics)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon amnesia, Could be seen as platonic, Gen, It's just a Thanksgiving bonding fic, Jason Cares, Jason Todd is Red Hood, Lots of Food, Or as pre-romantic, Post-it Notes, Thanksgiving, ric grayson - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-22
Updated: 2018-11-22
Packaged: 2019-08-27 21:19:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,114
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16710208
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GraySonOfGotham/pseuds/GraySonOfGotham
Summary: Ric Grayson is living alone in the a shitty studio apartment.He works nights at a bar until 2 AM and eats cereal for three meals a day.And he never really thought about his supposed "family", seeing that he kind of just wanted to get away from them, until the week of Thanksgiving, and someone keeps leaving him food and notes on yellow Post-its.





	The Blessings of Thanksgiving

It had taken him two and a half months to find a job at a dingy bar a couple miles from his new studio apartment.

Starting at eight every night, Ric Grayson would tended to the bar with some girl named Charlie, and when the bar was not full, he would wipe down tables or sweep.

It paid just enough for him to get by, and he was fine by that. At least now he was not breaking into other people’s houses.

Ric would usually finish cleaning up and heading home by 2 or 3 AM, which then, he would eat some cereal, take a shower, and jump into bed.

But that Monday night, the Monday before Thanksgiving, when Ric stumbled into his apartment and headed to the kitchen, he noticed that the box of cereal he usually kept in the first cabinet was gone.

Ric flicked the light on and frowned.

The entire box was gone. All that was left was a single Cheerio. Ric checked the other cabinets. They did not have cereal either. Ric’s eyes then landed on the little table he used as a dining table.

There was a round tin, wrapped in aluminum foil with a bright yellow Post-it note stuck on top. Ric approached it cautiously, almost waiting for it to explode.

He plucked the Post-it off.

_It’s not healthy just living off cereal._

Ric frowned. He stared at the tin foil mound and poked it with a finger. It was not moving, but it was warm. Ric slowly peeled away a corner of the foil.

It was a pie. An entire pie, fresh from the oven, still warm and steaming. Ric could smell the juicy apple and the spicy cinnamon. His mouth started watering without his permission.

Still, Ric was a bit apprehensive. He had some idea of who could have left it there. He was a little ticked off that they found him so quickly, but he honestly expected no less of the Bats.

Sighing, Ric went and retrieved a fork. He pulled the aluminum foil away and sat down. He stared at the pie for another second longer, wondering whether or not he should go get a plate and a knife to eat it properly.

A second later, he shoved the fork into the center of the perfectly browned crust and pulled up a heaping glob of apple filling.

Ric spent the next ten minutes eating a decently sized hole into the center of his pie. It was really good, he had to admit, and it made him feel a little better about the fact that the person stole his cereal and broke into his apartment.

He put the foil back over what was left of the pie and shoved it into the fridge. He then got into the shower, and later went to bed.

The next day, when he got home, Ric was planning on finishing the last bit of pie. He had eaten some after he got up, and then again, before he left for work. He found the pie in the fridge, but what was left of it had been transferred onto a plate, the tin gone.

Ric brought it out and picked up a fork. Then, he spotted something new on his table, another yellow note on it.

_Your fridge is fucking empty. It’s a miracle you’re still alive._

Ric snorted quietly at that. Yes, his fridge was empty, because he only bought what he had to eat. Most of the time, he ate the leftover food from the bar anyway. Sure, it was unhealthy, but it was all he could afford. A good portion of his money was spent on the ridiculously high rent for the crappy apartment.

He peeled back the foil on the new dish. It was a green bean casserole, if he was not wrong. He took his fork and dug a piece out of the center. It was really good. It was not made of canned green beans, but fresh ones. Ric also tasted real mushrooms, not the slightly metallic taste of the canned cream of mushroom soup. It was still warm.

Ric finished off his pie and ate a bit more of the casserole. He put the rest in the fridge.

The next day, as Ric ate the cold casserole (he did not have a microwave) he thought about leaving his frustrated caretaker a note. Finding a spare piece of paper and a pen that barely worked, Ric scribbled, _You don’t have to keep leaving food for me. I can take care of myself._

When he came back from work that night, Ric immediately glanced at his little table. This time, there were two dishes and a note.

_Like hell you can. You’re practically sleeping with cockroaches. I also did your laundry, by the way. It was stinking up the whole fucking apartment._

Ric glanced over at the pile of clothes he had kicked into the corner, promising to take it down to the coin laundry later, but he kept putting it off.

It was gone, and on his ratty couch, there was a stack of neatly folded shirts, pants, underwear and socks.

Ric rolled his eyes, but smiled. He knew that he should be annoyed that one of the Bats was following him around, monitoring him and invading his privacy, but Ric was not. Whoever this was had yet to beg for him to come back, to accept their help, or to try to trigger his memory in some way.

Ric wondered who it was. It did not seem like that Barbara girl, and it probably was not the smaller boy either. Ric doubted that it was Bats himself. He tried to remember who else there were. Ric knew there were a whole bunch of them, but he had no idea who it could have been.

Ric peeked under the foil of the new dishes. One was a sweet potato casserole complete with toasted marshmallows. The other was a steaming bowl of mashed potatoes. Two smaller bowls of gravy were nestled on top.

Ric ate until he was bursting and felt too tired to actually take a shower. He brushed his teeth and collapsed onto the lumpy mattress he called a bed, and he was nearly immediately asleep.

Before leaving for work on Thanksgiving Day, Ric left his mystery caretaker another note: _Thanks and all, but you don’t have to bring enough food to feed an army. I am just one man, you know. I have enough to last me the rest of this week and into the next now._

He got off work early that night. He wondered if he should splurge a little and get himself a burger or something. But then he thought about the last bit of the green bean casserole, the mashed potatoes, and the sweet potato casserole still in his fridge. He had little doubt that there was another dish on his table.

Or, maybe there was not. It was Thanksgiving after all. And the Bats were a big family. They were sure to get together for some sort of dinner or celebration.

And if the person did show up, maybe Ric would catch them in the act and finally find out who it is.

Ric walked a little quicker.

He entered his apartment and immediately saw someone crawling through the window. Both of them froze.

“Oh,” the person said. “You’re back early.”

His voice was raspy and deep, scrambled by something in his helmet. He calmly set the container he was carrying down onto Ric’s kitchen table. Ric’s eyes nearly bugged out at the sheer amount of containers on the table in the first place.

“Are you trying to kill me with this much food?” Ric asked nervously, more in awe at the amount of foil covered containers on his table.

“I stress cook,” the man answered. “Especially around the holidays, and I certainly can’t eat this much.”

“Then why give it to me? Why not your other… friends?”

The man snorted. “I _do_. But I still have extra, and I can’t exactly bring it to the Manor. Alfred gets mad. Besides, I’m not really wanted there anyway.”

Ric cocked his head. “But you’re still one of them.” He nodded at the red bat on the man’s chest.

The man laughed bitterly. “That’s just to spite the old man. Add a little salt to the wounds.”

Ric laughed. “That’s not very nice of you.”

“I’m not a very nice person.”

“For someone who brings me food every night, and does my laundry, it’s a bit hard to believe.”

“I have mild OCD.”

“Uh-huh.”

The man reached up and popped his red helmet off, and shook out his hair. He nodded at the table and grimaced. “Well, you should probably get to it. There’s a lot to work through.”

Ric stared at him with narrowed eyes. He was a lot younger than Ric imagined. Maybe it was the voice scrambler and the helmet combo, but the man could not be older than twenty-five. There was no way he was older than Ric.

“You should join me,” Ric said suddenly.

The man blinked at him. “Uh, yeah, no. I’ve got stuff to do.”

“it’s Thanksgiving.”

The man grimaced again and shook his head. “I don’t do the whole… holiday, family, get-together, happy, fun times thing.”

“So you didn’t have Thanksgiving dinner with the rest of your… group?”

“Again, I’m not exactly wanted at the Manor most of the time.”

“Then sit, and eat.”

“I already ate.”

Ric raised an eyebrow. “This isn’t about you. This is about whether or not you’re going to make _me_ spend Thanksgiving alone.”

The man hesitated. Then, he glared at Ric. “Hnnn… you may have lost your memory, but you certainly haven’t lost the ability to be an asshole.”

Ric laughed. He walked over and pulled out two paper plates and a couple forks. “Sorry I don’t have the proper accommodations. I don’t have many guests around these days.”

“Sorry for dropping by so unexpectedly.”

Ric handed the man a plate and fork. “So, what’s your name?”

The man was silent for a few seconds. “Jason,” he finally replied.

It rang no bells in Ric’s head. He reached into his fridge and found it stocked with a carton of orange juice, a carton of milk, a gallon of water, and a six-pack of beer. He pulled out two beers.

“So, are you just pulling all this food out of nowhere, Jason?” Ric asked. “You made all this, right?” He sat down in the one of the two rickety chairs. Jason slowly lowered himself into the other.

He pulled off his gloves and his leather jacket, setting it by his helmet on the counter.

“Yeah,” Jason said. He winced silently. “I’ve got a decent amount of money myself.”

“Oh? What do you do?” Ric asked, pulling the foil covers off of dish after dish. There were honeyed carrots, stuffing, salad, scalloped potatoes, cranberry sauce, cornbread, half a turkey, slices of ham, an entire pecan pie, and an entire pumpkin pie. The mashed potatoes, and the two casseroles had been reheated somehow and were also sitting on the table.

“Stuff,” Jason said, obviously avoiding the question. He reached for the salad first, stuffing his mouth full so he would not have to talk.

Ric loaded his plate with a little bit of everything.

“Are you sure you’re giving some to everyone?” Ric asked. Both his and Jason’s plates were full, yet all of the dishes had barely been touched.

Jason swallowed hard. “At first,” he admitted. “Then, I saw the state of your fridge and made it my personal mission to make sure you didn’t starve to death.”

Ric gave him a disapproving frown.

“Yeah, yeah,” Jason said with a wave of his hand. “You don’t like us meddling with you, I get it. Heard it once from Barbara, heard it again from Damian. But this isn’t about you,” he said, throwing Ric’s words back at him.

“The who is it about?” Ric asked, challenging.

Jason smirked. “This is about you helping me pack up whatever you’re not going to finish and delivering them to the homeless people on the streets of your city tonight.”

Ric blinked at him, the food in his mouth forgotten.

“You’re serious,” he finally said.

Jason nodded. “Why not? You said you’re not going to be able to finish this, and I’m going to wait for it to spoil in your crappy fridge. Might as well do some good.”

Ric laughed loudly. “And you say you’re not a nice man.”

Jason blushed and stabbed viciously at his food. “Shut up, Grayson.”

**Author's Note:**

> You guys are my Thanksgiving blessings. <3


End file.
